


A Stable Conversation

by maxigolds



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Centaur!Reader, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxigolds/pseuds/maxigolds
Summary: “Can ...” he starts, and you can tell he’s not looking at you properly, even through those cracked sunglasses. “Can I pet you?”
Relationships: Equius Zahhak/Reader
Kudos: 36





	A Stable Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Please know that this is completely self indulgent, and was a request from a friend

“Excuse me.”

You pause mid text to look up at the troll standing in front of you, index fingers tapping awkwardly together like a troll anime school girl in a way you definitely think you find to be cuter than anyone else would. Raising an eyebrow, your hind hoof kicks at the dirt, and you notice that he’s tall for a troll, even if you still tower over him. The perks of being a centaur. “Yeah?” you ask, shoving your phone in your jacket pocket in case it’s something important, because the text you were half way through really wasn’t.

“Can ...” he starts, and you can tell he’s not looking at you properly, even through those cracked sunglasses. “Can I pet you?”

Oh. You sigh. “Yeah fine, whatever.” You get this a lot, honestly, and you’ve kind of grown used to it. One of the drawbacks of being a centaur, unfortunately, but you don’t really mind it as much as you probably should. People just tend to be over excitable and forget that the difference between centaurs and horses goes beyond your human torso. Besides, even if you’d never admit it, you kind of like the attention. “Just keep away from the hind legs.” You don’t want to kick him. He might have been rude enough to ask to pet you like you’re a goddamn dog or something, but you don’t want to cause an injury.

The way his face lights up is almost worth it though. A grin spread across his face to show busted teeth that match his broken horn, and you hate that you think he’s kind of cute, because you shouldn’t think that anyone who asks to invade your personal space is kind of cute. “Thank you,” he says, and at least he’s polite, moving to stand next to your lower torso, and you swivel slightly at your upper hips to watch him. He looks starry eyed, hand hovering above the hair along your lower, horse-like, body as if he’s hesitating.

You suppose you understand why other species seem so fascinated at the idea of a centaur - you’re rare enough that it’s completely fascinating to anyone who hasn’t seen a centaur before, but common enough that people at least know to ask before just touching you rather than just grabbing. There have been enough accidents of strangers touching without asking and getting a little too personal with a set of hind hooves as a result, and you don’t really want to add to that statistic.

“So what’s your name anyway?” you ask as the troll runs his hand along your hair with a gasp, as if being allowed to stroke a centaur's horse behind is just so much more wonderful than he could have ever imagined. Honestly, it’s a little weird, but you really can’t find it in yourself to care. Besides, he’s being cautiously gentle, to the point where it looks as if he’s straining not to hurt you by accident.

“Oh. Um. Equius.” He looks up at you, meeting your eyes over your shoulder. Or, you assume he does anyway. It’s hard to tell through those glasses. One thing you are certain of, however, is that if trolls could blush through that thick skin, his face would be the matching blueberry colour as the sign on his shirt, and he goes back to staring at the pattern on your coat as if it holds the writings of the Merciful Messiahs themselves. Actually, maybe that’s blasphemy. You don’t know anything about that weird clown religion and you don’t think you want to.

“Well, Equius, do you usually go around asking random centaurs if you can pet them?”

His hand stutters over your coat, shoulders hunching up to his ears, and the tips of them actually flush blue this time. Huh. Maybe trolls can blush, on their ears at least. You learn something new every day. “I …” he splutters, and you snort.

“I’m just teasing,” you tell him, grinning, and you wish you had a surface of some sort to lean on right now. It would make looking over your shoulder at him much easier. Your tail flicks and he keeps running his hand along your back. It’s almost relaxing. “I don’t actually mind. Some centaurs would kick you for even asking though, just so you know. So, what, you just really like centaurs or something?” He can at least try and make small talk if he wants to stroke you. Like you said- you don’t mind, but it’ll just be awkward standing in silence while he runs a hand along your back.

Equius clears his throat and gives what looks like half a shrug. “I have a strong appreciation for alternian musclebeast art,” he admits, and you have no idea what that means, but youre not sure if it’s the confused look on your face or Equius’ apparent interest in the topic that prompts him to continue. “They are beautiful creatures. Legends tell of musclebeasts once roaming the cosmos that were so enormous, they could destroy entire planets with but a twitch of any anatomical feature,” he says, and something that sounds suspiciously memorised. A quote from a book he’s read too many times, perhaps. You nod, trying to encourage him to continue, because you kind of like his voice and he seems eager to talk about it. A bead of sweat runs down his temple.

“And musclebeasts look like centaurs?” you ask when he doesn’t say anything else. You’re watching his face still, simply admiring and examining him in the same way he’s doing to you. You wonder if his hair is as thick as yours, or if his horns would feel similar to your hooves. You wonder how he managed to break his horn, and how badly it hurt.

“Not exactly,” he says, before he corrects, “not always. Sometimes they look like horses, and sometimes they look like horse hybrids. But they are always exquisite, I think.” Equius doesn’t say anything for a moment, still running his hand rhythmically across the hair of your horse-like back, and you’re reminded again of how annoying it is to not have specific words to differentiate between your ‘human’ physique and your ‘horse’ physique, even if you are entirely a centaur, not these two strange creatures mashed together, like people compare you to. “Musclebeast art is mostly appreciated by blue bloods, such as myself.” He pronounces ‘blue’ sort of funny, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Lowbloods seem to find it somewhat … unsavoury.”

You shrug. “Well, you enjoy it, don’t you? Who cares what anyone else thinks. Even if it’s kinda weird, it still makes you happy, and that’s what matters, doesn’t it?”

He looks at you for a moment. “My meowrail- moirail says the same thing. Even if she considers it to be weird and creepy as well.” You don’t know much about troll relationships, but you’ve heard the word ‘moirail’ before, at least. You think it’s comparable to being best friends, but you heard that from a second hand source, so you’re not sure how trustworthy it is. “She is supportive, though.”

You simply hum in reply, because you’re not really sure what to say otherwise. “She sounds nice,” is all you manage to come out with, because it’s not like you know anything about her or their relationship, and you want to be polite.

But then Equius smiles, and it’s a different smile from earlier, when you said he could pet you. That one was beaming and over-excited, where this one is soft and lovesick and it makes your heart ache in a way you can’t really explain. “Yes,” he says, “she really is.” His hand is just resting on your back, the coolness of it soaking into your skin, and you try and focus on that for a moment while you breathe, and it takes a moment before he finally steps away from you. “Um. Thank you for letting me pet you,” he says, hand clenching and unclenching into a fist by his side, and you’d be lying if you said the way the muscles in his forearm twitched didn’t catch your eye.

“Anytime,” you hum, stepping in place and shifting your weight between your legs, and thinking for a moment before deciding, fuck it, what’s the worst that can happen. “In fact, if you want to give me your trolltag, we might be able to organise something?” It comes off as a little more teasing than you meant it to be. Really, you just kind of want to talk to him again, even if it’s only through a chat box.

“I-“ Equius’ ears go blue at the tips again, and you can see his eyebrows shooting up over his glasses frames, hands twitching by his sides. “Yes. Ok.”

You grin again, a little wider this time, practically bouncing on your hooves as you pull out your phone, prompting, “so what’s your tag?”

“centuarsTesticle.”

Oh. You sigh. 


End file.
